


The Stuff of Life

by Laylah



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Mud, Power Play, Yosuga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They make a struggle of it, rolling, wet mud splashing around them as they fight for the upper hand.</p><p>[spoilers to Mifunashiro]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stuff of Life

The joyful rightness of Yosuga hums behind Chiaki's breastbone, power singing through her like the hum of magatsuhi through her limbs. She has seen what she wanted and she has taken it, from those too weak to resist and too foolish to surrender. Their black sacred mud is wet beneath her feet, and her seraphs circle in the air above their shrine. And her new champion, her new ally, proves his strength to her—first by defeating the angels she set to test him, and now by defeating the pathetic mud dolls' misguided prophet, beating down the false messiah with his strong, bare-knuckled hands. The Vortex World has changed Naoki just as it's changed her, made them both stronger, more beautiful, more fit. He tears the mud dolls' prophet to pieces and rises to his feet, streaks of black mud across the gleaming lines of power that map his skin.

"You're filthy," Chiaki purrs. The stuff drips from his fingertips, raw proto-life for the misbegotten toys they've subjugated.

Naoki smiles, arrogant and terrible and perfect. "Going to try to tell me I'm too much of a mess for your beautiful vision?"

She hadn't been planning on it, but he makes the idea tempting. "If I do, will you prove yourself to me?"

Perhaps it's a trick of the light that makes his teeth look sharp; perhaps it's the same glorious transformative power that has gifted Chiaki with her new arm. They have become the best that this world can inspire, the raw force of demons melded with the grace and beauty of humanity. Naoki's smile is a promise of triumph. "Try me," he says, settling into a fighting stance.

Chiaki smiles behind her demon-armor mask, and accepts the challenge.

He's been battling demons, and it's made him strong; if she were still only human, she couldn't hope to stand against him. But the power of Gozu-Tennoh is hers, and the swipe of her clawed and heavy hand sends him sprawling. Still, he catches hold of her as he falls, dragging her down into the black mud. It's wet enough here, at the edge of the water, to splash when they land; Naoki rolls, trying to keep Chiaki from pinning him, and she pushes so they don't stop, so they slide half into the water itself.

The water hisses and crackles against Chiaki's skin, raw energy that hasn't yet been refined into the clean burn of magatsuhi—this is filthy, contaminated stuff, the useless sludge of the Vortex World's new system of power. The contact with it is still enough to make Chiaki's flesh alive with hunger.

Naoki snarls, giving voice to the Fiend nature that propels him now; his nails are still blunt and human when he rakes them down Chiaki's back. She shudders, not letting herself answer the sound, instead biting at his bare throat to catch one of his marks between her teeth. There's grit on her tongue, silt that clung to his skin from his triumph, the blood of the mud dolls—and beneath that there's the fever-hot burn of his power, heady with promise. The drive for _more_ , to bring this world to its knees, is intoxicating and beautiful, a need Chiaki feels in her grasping hands and in the pulsing ache between her legs.

He feels it, too; he ruts against her hip, and she lets him, tangling her legs with his so she can grind against his thigh. They make a struggle of it, rolling, wet mud splashing around them as they fight for the upper hand. It makes everything slippery, hard for either of them to keep a grip on the other, but still there's friction in some places, streaks of grit augmenting the burn of the water's energy. The mud and its promises of half-life should be revolting, but Chiaki finds herself glorying in the very depravity of the scene. This is _right_ , this fight for pleasure, this celebration of what they've become. Yosuga will bring about a true Creation, not a mere mimicry of it; true strength, not merely a muddy imitation.

Chiaki reaches her peak quickly, climaxing hard and sharp, her teeth buried in Naoki's shoulder; he hisses like a demon, his hand snarled in her muddied hair, and won't let go, rocking against her until he shudders through his own release. For a moment they pause, both catching their breath, and then they let go of each other almost simultaneously, disengaging and rolling away into ready stances.

When Naoki makes no move to attack, Chiaki laughs. "A fit champion for Yosuga," she says. Even dripping with the manikins' filth, there's no disguising how beautiful he is. "Will you come with me to the Tower?"

"I'll meet you there," Naoki says. "There's still one more cache I want to seize first."

"Shijima's?" Chiaki says, and he nods. She smiles. "Don't make me wait too long."

She doesn't wish him luck, and he doesn't ask her to, just turns to make his way back out of the shrine. They have no need for luck; Yosuga is the way of those who make their own path instead of depending on fate.

Chiaki gestures, and one of her angels comes drifting down from patrol above to tend to her. "Yes, Lady Chiaki?" the angel says. She's one of the weak ones, half-bare and bound—not good for much in a battle, but for this she'll do.

"Help me wash off this filth," she says.

"Of course, Lady Chiaki," her angel murmurs.

They will march on the Tower in glory and triumph.


End file.
